Sexton Brothers Box Set Page 3

  I turn to him in surprise, realizing I never gave him my name either.

  He drops his gaze and refocuses back on the road. “I guess we’ll just leave it at that. Names don’t matter because I never plan on seeing you again,” he says.

  I fight the unwelcome sting his words leave in my eyes and point to the corner nearest my building. “Here is fine.”

  “I’m not leaving you on some street corner.”

  “And I’m not showing you where I really live.”

  He forcefully breathes out his nose and shakes his head. “Okay then. Here you are. I’ll see you around, Pyle.”

  “Pyle? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Seems pretty fitting, considering how you got into my car in the first place.”

  I take in a sharp, insulted breath. With a clench of my jaw and a grunt, I swing my door open and jolt out on wobbly feet. “Thanks for the ride, ‘Falcon.’”

  You can sure as shit believe I threw in some air quotes.

  “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” Eva dramatically holds out two hands as she takes in the story I just told her.

  My purse and keys are in Beckett’s car, so I had to wake her up in order to get into our apartment.

  “You raced in Falcon’s car? No one—and I mean, no one—has ever been in that car, let alone for a race.”

  Now, it’s my turn to act completely shocked. “How do you know about Falcon?”

  Eva and I have been friends for years and roommates for the last two. While her ability to know everything about everyone astonishes me, I wasn’t quite prepared for her to be well versed in the world of underground street racing.

  “Remember that guy, Russell, I dated for, like, six weeks last summer? He used to go to those races. That Falcon guy is a legend.”

  My eyes roll so far up into my forehead, I think they might freeze there. “I’m so sick of hearing about how he’s some god. That’s all Beckett kept talking about on the ride to that stupid race. Why is everyone obsessed with some douche in a Camaro?”

  She climbs on my bed and sits on her knees, excited to tell me what she knows. “He’s so secretive about everything. Only a few people even know who he really is. I hear talk that he might be a famous actor or a politician’s son or something.”

  “He’s not anyone I recognized.”

  “You saw him?” she yells in disbelief. “No one has ever fully seen him. He hides under that hat and hood, so you can only get glimpses of his face.”

  I pull my eyebrows together at how absurd that sounds. “Yeah. I demanded he take his ridiculous LUNATIC hat off, and I saw him clear as day.”

  The bed shakes as she bounces up and down, eager for the info. “So, who is he?”

  “I don’t know. Some prick who demanded I get in his car and threatened my life with his driving.”

  “Stop it.” She hits my shoulder and then tosses her long black hair over her own. “You needed to be manhandled like that; don’t deny it.”

  I let out a little groan at her. She’s right. I might have been scared while it was happening, but no matter how much I try to fight it, tonight was definitely the most exciting night of my life.

  I close my eyes tight, only to relish the rush of sitting in that car, waiting for the flick of a flashlight to determine my fate.

  When it went off, it was wild.

  Terrifying and awakening.

  My stomach dropped as Falcon took us from zero to sixty in what felt like a second, making my body ripple with fear. I gripped the seat, digging my fingernails into the worn leather. Every second had me praying for my life, yet when it was over, I had an odd sensation of loss. I’ve never been so terrified with so much adrenaline rushing through me. Everything in my body was on fire.

  Yet, when he stopped, all I could think of was how to get out as soon as possible.

  I’m a walking contradiction, and I blame Falcon.

  My phone vibrates from my back pocket, making me open my eyes and pull it out. Beckett’s face fills the screen. Eva is staring at me with raised brows while pulling her hair back in a ponytail as I answer the call.

  “Seriously, Beckett? I could be dead in a ditch by now,” I say as soon as I hit Accept.

  “Where are you?” His voice is laced with concern. Too bad he’s about an hour too late.

  “Not in a ditch.”

  His breath is ragged on the other end. “I shouldn’t have let him take you.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “He only pulled that shit to prove a point. If I fought for you, it would have gotten ugly. Better for him to think you’re just some girl I hook up with ’cause, if he knew who you really were, he might have done much more than make you go for a drive. It was the right thing to do.”

  “No, Beckett. Making sure I was safe with you would have been the right thing to do.”

  “It was probably for the best. If you were on the sidelines, I wouldn’t have been able to get to you when the cops came.”

  “I should have been with you!” I yell, pulling my hair at the base of my scalp. “God, why did you let that prick boss you around like that? The way you had talked shit about him behind his back had me believing he was your bitch, not the other way around.”

  “Way to kick a man when he’s down, Jay.”

  “Way to bail on me, Beck.”

  Eva whistles through her teeth at my tone. Even though I’m royally pissed at him, I know he doesn’t need my grief right now. Beckett has so much going on in his life, and these races give him a reprieve. After the spectacle that happened tonight, I wouldn’t be surprised if Falcon dismissed him from ever racing again.

  I can hear Beckett breathing loudly on the other end.

  “I fucked up. I know. I just … I make the wrong decisions.”

  His downtrodden attitude hits me right in the gut. It’s from the way he grew up, always being told he wasn’t enough. Beckett goes from being on top of the world to beating himself up in seconds.

  “You’re just trying to find your way. We all are.” I sigh, slumping on my bed in defeat.

  He lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Easy for you to say. You’re on the road to success. Are you ready for your new job tomorrow?”

  “No.” I let out a soft laugh.

  I only got the call on the way to tonight’s race that I was hired for an executive assistant position. That’s what you get when you work with a temp agency. Jobs in print media are hard to come by these days, and I’ll take whatever I can get.

  “I’m not ready, but I will be. You should know that about me by now.”

  “That a girl. So, you’re okay?” His question sounds more like, Are we okay?

  “Yeah. Eva was home, so she let me in. I need my bag, so you owe me breakfast tomorrow. Early. I don’t want to be late on my first day,” I demand.

  “Deal,” he says. “And kiss the Latina princess for me. I owe her for taking care of you tonight.”

  I wink at Eva, who is listening in on the conversation. The three of us say our good nights before I hang up the phone and plug it into the charger on my nightstand.

  Eva slides off the bed as I pull down my covers. “He leaves you in the hands of a stranger, and you forgive him on the first apology?”

  “I have to,” I sigh as I start to remove my pants, getting my pajamas on. “You know the hell our dad put him through. I’m all he’s got.”

  She gives a nod in understanding. “You’re too good.” She walks to the door and leans on the frame, her head tilted to the side. “Do you think you’ll see Falcon again?”

  I tug my shirt over my head. “Most definitely not.”

  “Too bad. I bet he’s a great lover.”

  I pause, confused. “Now, why in the world would you think that?”

  Her lips spread wide as her brows rise and fall wickedly. “Don’t lie. You think so, too.”

  I pick up a pillow and throw it toward the doorframe as she walks away. It’s easier than telling her s
he’s most likely right.

  3

  AUSTIN

  “Good morning, Mr. Sexton,” Martin, a security guard, greets me as I walk through the two-story lobby of marble and granite.

  The word SEXTON is in bold black letters on the wall behind the security desk, letting anyone who enters know who owns this place.

  I pass through the turnstile without having to swipe a badge, and when I get to the elevator bank, an attendant waits to push the call button.

  Once the elevator doors open to the twenty-second floor, and Stefanie, my assistant, is waiting with a portfolio in one hand and a large coffee in the other. It’s our Friday tradition.

  She’s a smart one, so she hands me the coffee first. “Good morning, Mr. Sexton.”

  “Have I ever told you, you’re the best assistant in the world?” I ask as I start to take a sip.

  “Daily. And I know it.” She pushes her glasses up her nose and follows me down the hallway toward the main workspace where desk after desk is filled with people scurrying to write tomorrow’s news when today has barely started.

  We continue down the hall to my corner office. The room is decorated with mahogany wood paneling and a cream-colored rug. The floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end have a fantastic view of the Golden Gate Bridge and, my favorite, Alcatraz. When I look at it, I hear Sean Connery’s deep brogue in my head.

  “Alcatraz,” I mutter to myself in my best imitation.

  There’s a button on my desk that moves a large bookcase and swings it around to make a bar appear. It’s my Mad Men office. Makes me feel like Don Draper.

  Stefanie stops at the door while I proceed to the bar. It’s lined with mirrors, glass shelves, and these gaudy crystal canisters to house my whiskey collection. It’s cheesy but cool as fuck. It was a gift to myself when I was summoned to work as President of Digital Media within Sexton Media.

  I take out a glass and hold it up to Stefanie in offering.

  She shakes her short brown hair and raises a palm, as if to say, No, thanks.

  I pour a shot into my coffee and then take a sip before I walk around my desk and sit in my leather Aeron chair. I prop my feet on the desk and listen while Stefanie gives me the rundown of my day.

  “You have a nine o’clock call with the sales team at Under Armour to talk about the digital sponsorship for the web series on Stephen Curry.”

  I roll my eyes at the project my editorial team conjured up. Everyone has done interviews with the Golden State Warrior already. That’s not the type of thing that sets you apart from the competition. But everyone keeps saying I don’t know what I’m talking about.

  Stefanie continues, “Missy called a ten o’clock board meeting.”

  I take another drink and try to taper my disgust at the mention of my stepmonster.

  “And Steven Miller called you back.”

  I pop up in my seat, my feet hitting the ground with a thud. “He called back? What did he say?”

  Her face lights up bigger than her five-foot-five stature. “He said he’d been waiting for your call and agreed to talk today at four.”

  I slap my hand down on my desk in excitement. This is a meeting I’ve been preparing a long time for, and knowing it’s finally going to happen brings a nervous feeling rushing through me.

  While I might hate what my father and his new wife are trying to do to this place with their sensationalized news and pop culture–only headlines, stories like the one Sergeant Miller has to tell make it more than worth it.

  Every media outlet has been after an interview with him since he was awarded the Medal of Honor. He barely survived his heroism and has asked for his privacy while he heals. I had a feeling the time was right, and I’m glad I listened to my gut to reach out to him.

  “Confirm that call and then get me a list of the top ten producers my father hasn’t royally pissed off.” I tap my finger on the desk as the wheels in my head set in motion doing an actual human-interest story, like the ones we used to do. Back when the smartest woman I ever knew was in charge.

  “Oh, and Bryce wants to see you in his office,” Stefanie says tentatively, making my high immediately disappear.

  I wave off the notion. He already ruined the event last night with his speech about how I needed to pull my weight around here. It’s why my phone’s been off all morning, avoiding his calls.

  “Tell him I’ll stop by for another heart-to-heart before I leave for the day.”

  Stefanie clutches the portfolio to her chest and looks up over the rim of her glasses. “Actually, he wants to see you … now.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised. The guy harasses me seventy-five times a day. I do a great job of ignoring his emails, calls, and texts. Unfortunately, it’s more difficult to avoid him when we work on the same floor.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I weigh the odds. If I don’t go, he’ll just march his moody self over here and lecture me for as long as he wants from the comfort of my leather sofa. If I go to him, I can listen and then leave when I feel the conversation is finished.

  Going for the latter, I grab my coffee and make my way toward the opposite corner of the building where my dear brother’s office is located. It’s not a coincidence that I chose the office farthest away from him.

  I swear, the guy never sleeps. The word workaholic in the dictionary should have his picture next to it. He’s constantly giving me shit that I don’t do my part, which I do. I wish he would open his eyes and see that for a change.

  I turn the corner to his office, and—surprise, surprise—the secretary desk is empty. No knickknacks or pictures. Not even a notepad. The glass and metal desk is sitting here with a lone Mac computer and a sad-looking black-and-red Sexton Media pen.

  Looks like big brother pissed off yet another assistant.

  That’s his third assistant in the eighteen months I’ve worked here. The last one was a hard-core hockey fan named Christine who had a desire for my brother’s—ahem—stick.

  Every secretary has fallen head over heels for Bryce Sexton.

  They come in here and fall for his good looks and take-charge attitude. One girl used our company holiday party to run up to the microphone of the eight-piece band and publically profess her love for him, only to quit the next day.

  The guy isn’t exactly the sweet-talking type. He’s the give you strict orders, and if you don’t follow them, he’ll reprimand you for an hour kinda guy. He isn’t an asshole, but he does act like he carries the world on his shoulders and makes sure everyone around him knows it, too.

  Even though his life is one hundred percent work, one hundred percent of the time, women fall for his steel demeanor and want to be the one to crack him open. That’s why he has—on more than one occasion—arrived at the office to a naked secretary on his desk. One of these days, he’s going to get a lawsuit thrown at him.

  Bryce’s office is the mirror image of mine in layout, except his is all white walls and glass furniture. He doesn’t have a bar, but I know for a fact that he has a couple bottles of Johnnie Walker Black hidden in his bottom drawer on the right side of his desk.

  “I was half-expecting you to avoid me today,” he says without taking his focus off his computer screen.

  “If I’m one thing, it’s accountable.”

  Bryce looks up at me with those cold dark eyes he inherited from our father and shrugs in agreement. That’s about as much of a compliment as I’ll ever get from him.

  I walk over to the conference table and take a seat at one of the swivel chairs; the wheels roll back as I fall into it.

  I see him give me his signature look of disagreement—chin down as he glares at me over the rim of his glasses. You can always tell when he’s had a shitty night by the way he can’t get his contacts into his dry eyes the next morning.

  Adjusting my tie, I say with a snicker, “I see you’re assistant-less today.”

  “New one starts this morning. She’s down in Human Resources, getting an ID card. We need to talk abou
t something important.”

  “Please tell me it has something to do with you needing a new assistant because I love to hear when you make a mistake.”

  “Funny how you like to make jokes about my sex life when you’ve been with women I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole.”

  I squint my eyes at him, hating that he knows so much about me, including who I lost my virginity to.

  His office phone rings, and he answers without caring that I’m sitting here, waiting for the one-on-one meeting he summoned me here for.

  Frustrated he’s putting me off when he demanded I be here, I lean as far back in the chair as it will allow, testing it to see just how low it will go before I fall back.

  “Yes, Missy.” He grimaces, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Austin is here. We’ll both be at the meeting,” he sighs into the phone.

  When I push further with my feet, the front wheels of the chair lift slightly off the ground.

  “We’ll discuss your new plan then.” He’s rubbing his forehead with his thumb and pointer finger, the aggravation palpable.

  I don’t know why he entertains her as much as he does. Between me, him, and our younger brother, Tanner, we have an equal share in half of this company—sixteen-point-six-seven percent each, to be exact—while she and Dad share the other half.

  With my arms up, I try to free-fall back, but the damn chair doesn’t budge. Instead, it catapults me straight up, interfering with my desire to cause havoc in any way I can.

  He hangs up the phone, and I know he’s gonna discuss Missy, but I don’t have the patience for that this morning.

  Instead, I point toward the door where the assistant will sit. “Is she hot?”

  Bryce growls at me. “It’s her first day.”

  “So?”

  He rises from his desk and gives me a pointed glare. “I just met her an hour ago. The temp agency hired her.” He walks away from his desk and into his private bathroom, leaving the door open as he adjusts his tie.

  He looks so much like our father did at his age—dark hair over a serious brow and square jawline. He never misses a shave or a morning at the gym. And at six foot three, he looks like he can conquer the fucking world.